


To Incinerate, To Regrow - A Journey of Self-Love and Acceptance

by hannahetesta



Category: 5 to 7
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahetesta/pseuds/hannahetesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-insert work that I decided to share. I understand that it's not perfect and it's certainly not as entertaining as it could be. It's something personal and therefore a little selfish, so if it gets cliche or far-fetched, I apologize. 5 to 7 is a film that changed me; not in the way that I or anyone else expected. This is a project that I'm hoping will help me become stronger and a little steadier on my feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mailbox

**Author's Note:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, September 29th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> A quick note before I begin: this is going to be an on-going story, and by on-going I mean this is all I’m going to be writing and posting for a couple of months because there’s so much of it. I’m sure many of you would rather read about what I have to say about the holiday movie lineup that’s going to be released soon, but I was asked to write about something personal, for a change. And fair warning, this is very personal, so it may be a while before I’m back to my usual snark.
> 
> What I’ll be writing about is something that actually happened. Nonfiction can be a tricky kind of medium to work with, but I promise you that this is a true story.

Moving is a pain in the ass. Moving into an apartment on the seventh floor of a very tall building in the middle of February, that’s even worse. You don’t know how much you can sweat until you use the elevator so many times, you’d swear you can count how many dead bugs got caught in the fluorescents on the ceiling. It took me at least two washes to get the pit stains off of my blouse.

Marie Carter, wonderful roommate and stepsister that she is, was already unpacking when I made it through the door with the last of our belongings. I took a seat on the only available piece of furniture, which was her futon “How did you manage to get that beast all the way up here? Did it even fit in the elevator?”

Marie poked her head out of the kitchen, grinning. “It folds up, Liz, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It weighs a ton. Did Dan drop it on his foot again?”

She bit her lip, ducking back around the corner. “He may have. A few times.”

“You’re lucky he’s got a lot of muscle on him.”

“I’m lucky that he loves me enough to do the heavy lifting. If you had a boyfriend, he’d be able to help us move in, too!”

I groaned quietly, opening a box containing a table lamp. “I have no answer to that, Marie.”

“Isn’t saying something technically answering, though?” There was a loud clatter, followed by, “Oh, shit!”

“Marie?” 

“It’s fine! We have plastic plates!” She peered out at me again, holding one up. “See? It didn’t break! But it looks like a real one. My mom thinks of everything.”

Thank God for Carol. We probably would have been out of plates in the first two days.

“Hey Lizzie, could you do me a favor and check our mailbox? My mom was dropping major hints that she and Nick already sent us a care package.”

“Do we even have the key to it?”

“It should be…hmm.” There was a good five minutes of rustling before she came out into the living room and handed me the key. “I forgot I put it in my pants. I thought maybe I’d thrown it out on accident.” She giggled. “Wouldn’t it be wild if that had happened?”

“Paying for a new key when we haven’t even been living here a full day…sounds exciting.”

“Lighten up, Liz, I was joking.” She rolled her eyes, pulling her long blond hair back into a ponytail. “When you get back, you want to start unloading the books? Your dad said he’d be here with the rest of our furniture in a couple of hours.”

“Sure, I’ll try to be quick.”

Trying wasn’t enough. I got lost on my way to the mail room and when I finally got there, I’d already been gone for ten minutes. I spun the lock and pulled the lever up. It didn’t open. So I kept trying. And it still wouldn’t open.

I have a temper on me, I get it from my dad, and I’m not proud of it. But by that point I just hit the stupid thing and swore a few times. “Why the fuck won’t you open?”

“Maybe because that’s not your mailbox.” There was a guy standing behind me, a little smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re not 715.”

“This isn’t 715, it’s 716.”

He strode over, pointing to the box below the one I’d been wrestling with. “716. Right there.”

I felt my face start to burn. “In my defense, the 5 and 6 look the same.”

“Of course they do.” That stupid smirk was still there as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “You want me to open it for you?”

“I think I can handle that, thanks.” It took me a couple of tries before I opened it. “You were making me nervous, so it doesn’t count.”

“Whatever you say.”

The care package was huge. It wasn’t hard to carry, it was just kind of awkward to hold it. The guy at the mail counter gave me a kind smile. “Just moved in?”

“Yeah.“

“Well, enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

I was heading back to the elevator when the guy with the smirk appeared next to me. “You know how to get back to your room?”

“Yes, why do you care?”

“Well, if you just moved here -”

“So you were listening?”

“I overheard.”

“Same difference.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his head as he followed me into the elevator. “I was going back up to my room, anyway. I can hit the button for you.”

“Thanks.”

The ride up was silent. When the doors opened, he asked, “You sure you can make it back on your own?”

“I don’t need your help. Thank you, but I’m able to handle it.” Two seconds later, I was on the floor, the package laying on top of me. I hadn’t realized one of the edges would hit the side of the elevator.

The guy held out a hand. “You’re sure?” That stupid smirk was full-on smile now.

He walked me back, because leaving me alone for the thirty seconds it took to get to my room was a bad idea. I kept my hand on the doorknob, but he wouldn’t stop asking questions.

“You live there alone?”

“I have a roommate.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Buffalo. It’s six hours from here.”

“You still in school?”

“Been out for about a year.”

I think he finally got that I wasn’t in the mood to talk, because he finally said, “I don’t want you to hold that thing forever, I’ll let you get back to unpacking.”

“Thank you…you know, I never got your name.”

“Brian. Bloom.”

“Nice to meet you, Brian.”

“Nice to meet you…”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth…?”

“Just Elizabeth.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later, Just Elizabeth.” He had a look on his face, like he still had questions, but for the time being he wouldn’t ask. And I was thankful for that.

I opened my door, seeing him disappear into his own apartment before shutting it all the way.


	2. Writers Are Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, October 2nd, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I want to start this part out by saying thank you for the overwhelming support I’ve been receiving for this project. It means a lot to know that you guys are behind me every step of the way, no matter what. I’ve gotten a lot of comments asking if the man in this story is that Brian Bloom. Yes, he is. I’m sure he won’t be worried in the slightest if I write about him, considering he’s already made a name for himself doing the same thing.

About a week went by uneventfully. Marie was still an intern then, studying psychology and going on coffee runs when someone needed her to (which was often). I’d just started my job at LilyPad, going into the office the first half of the week and working from our apartment the other half. We spent our nights unpacking boxes and trying to figure out how to connect the Blu-Ray player to the TV, eating whatever was in the fridge and ordering takeout on Friday nights. Even with all of that going on, Brian Bloom managed to sneak his way into conversation.

“The guy across the hall’s pretty cute,” Marie said one night over dinner. “You meet him yet?”

“Yeah. Remember how it took forever to get the mail the first day here? Part of that was talking to him.”

“I didn’t talk to him yet, I just saw him taking his trash out yesterday. He seems nice.”

“Mmhmm.”

She didn’t say anything else; I looked up and saw her grinning at me over her ramen noodles. 

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! What’s his name?”

I took a bite of chicken. “Brian.”

“Ooooh, Brian. Sounds sexy.”

“Hardly.”

“Why not? Is he a total douche?”

“No…” I rolled some stray peas around my plate. “He’s friendly enough, I suppose.”

“So what did you guys talk about?” she asked around a mouthful of food.

“The basics.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “He’s 24 and he’s a writer,” I mumbled.

Marie squealed. “Are you serious? Lizzie, that’s so exciting!”

“How so?”

“Lizzie, it sounds like he was made for you! Young, attractive, a writer…sounds a lot like you…”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“How come?”

“I…I don’t think he’s single.”

“there’s one way to find that out.” She raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“I’m not asking him that! I’m not embarrassing myself.”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate question!” She slurped the last of her noodles. “Ask him to go get coffee or something, just a casual neighborly outing. Ask him when he’s available.”

“What if he says no?”

“Then you move on, no big deal. But I bet he’ll love to get to know you better.”

“I’m not sure about this, Marie.” I stood, taking both her plate and mine and walking to the kitchen sink. “I’m not exactly the most eloquent when it comes to men, you know that.”

“You say that all the time, you’re always scared to try.” She leaned against the door frame, arms folded. “I know it’s out of your comfort zone, but I think this’ll be worth it. Just be yourself and see what happens.”

“Right,” I said. The water from the faucet burned my skin. “Because that’ll do me a world of good.”

***

It was just my luck he was in his apartment. Marie insisted I go over as soon as I cleaned up in the kitchen. He had a stapler in one hand and a piece of lavender paper in the other. 

“Just Elizabeth! Hey!”

“Hey…you know, you don’t have to call me that.”

“You didn’t give me another name, so I just figured…”

“I know. Sorry about that.” I held out a hand. “Elizabeth Benston. I go by Lizzie.”

“Nice to meet you, Lizzie.” He tucked the paper under his arm to shake my hand. From there, I could see that it was from The New Yorker.

“Am I interrupting something?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, no you’re fine. I’m just adding another rejection letter to my wall.”

I looked over his shoulder. One wall of the living room was wallpapered in official-looking documents.

“So publishers don’t do email anymore, then?”

“Most do, yeah. But I decided to start printing them all out. Kind of a way to motivate me.”

“Sounds a little sad…and kind of a waste of paper, don’t you think?”

“Oh, of course it is.” He smiled self-consciously. “But when I get my first letter of acceptance, it’s going to feel amazing. Absolutely indescribable. And I’ll look at that wall, and it’ll all be worth it. I went through all of the rejection and heartbreak to arrive at that shining moment of achievement.”

Pretentious much? “Sounds…inspiring!”

“Yeah…so what did you need? You didn’t come over to discover my weird habit, did you?”

“I never said it was -”

“I can tell by your face. Very expressive.”

Well then. I took a deep breath. “I’ve been a bit short with you, and rude, and I wanted to apologize. I thought maybe you’d want to…grab coffee sometime? With me? Together?”

He nodded. “Sure! When were you thinking?”

“Whenever. I mean not tonight, obviously…but whenever you’re available. When do you get off of work?”

“I…” He scratched the back of his head. “Um, I don’t exactly…have a job.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed -”

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine. I’m looking.” He brandished the lavender paper, smirking. “It’s going to happen someday.”

I nodded, about ready to turn around and bolt back to my apartment.

“Anyway. Coffee. Yes, I’d love to. Would Friday at two work?”

“That works, yes.”

“Awesome. See you then, Lizzie. Just Elizabeth.” His smirk grew as he went back in and shut the door.


	3. The First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benson | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, October 6th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

Brian was glued to his laptop when I met him that Friday at the Starbucks down the street. His hair was messier than usual and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. There were two empty cups lying on his right, a half-empty one to his left.

“Got something good?” I asked.

He nodded absently, his fingers tapping on the keyboard. 

“You need another coffee?”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the screen. I ordered a strawberry frappuccino and was sitting across from him five minutes later. I watched him for a moment, looking out the window to give him his privacy.

He closed the lid suddenly. “Alright. Sorry about that, I got started on something late last night and I haven’t stopped writing since.”

“You mean you’ve been writing all day?”

“I took a couple breaks, but once I form an idea in my head and it takes off, I really can’t afford to stop. I want it all out at once, visceral and raw.”

“You could have told me you were busy, I would have rescheduled.”

“No, it’s okay!” He downed the last of his coffee. “I didn’t want to cancel on you last minute.”

“Brian, you really look like you need a nap.”

“I haven’t looked in a mirror yet, but I’m guessing I look pretty out of it.”

“Just a little.”

He groaned, his fingers dragging through his hair and making it stick out. “I’m really sorry about this.” 

“You’re fine. Promise.” I played with the green straw, the plastic rubbing against the lid. “So what were you writing about?”

“Oh…nothing special…” He shrugged.

“It’s private?” 

“…Kind of.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“Not a problem. It’s not really personal so much as it is…embarrassing, I guess. To talk about out loud, at least.”

I nodded. “I’ve written stuff like that. It still makes me cringe to think about it.”

He laughed. “Were they really that awful? I manage to salvage even the very worst of my failed attempts.”

“Sometimes I think it’s better to just…I don’t know, leave it alone? I mean that’s just me, it sounds like you’ve had some success in…that…regard…” 

He was staring at me, a strange smile on his face.

“What?”

“You realize we know nothing about each other, right?”

“Well, this is the first time we’ve been able to talk without interruptions…within reason.”

He pursed his lips. “I was writing a love story about dogs.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s what I was writing when you came in. Might as well be honest, right?” His cheeks were red, his forehead wrinkled. “This was a horrible first date, I’m really sorry -”

“The first sex scene I wrote sounded like it was straight out of a corny sex-ed pamphlet.”

He paused, the sound of coffee being blended almost deafening. “I tried to make the stories in the porn I watched in high school more realistic and coherent.”

“I attempted to chronicle a day in the life of my hairbrush.”

“In first grade, my mother read a love letter I wrote to one of the neighbor girls out loud at my birthday party.”

“I got caught writing snarky comments on my desk about my fifth grade English teacher.”

“About?” 

“Does it matter? Whatever you’ve got going, I’m sure it’s going to be good. Don’t give up just because it sounds ridiculous.”

He gave me a genuine smile. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

“Of course.” I returned his smile before adding, “I wrote, 'Ms. Gretberg is a withered shell of a woman who can’t figure out if that’s a semicolon or a comma with a smudge on top.‘”


	4. Lizzie in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, October 9th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

If you can tell by the title of this installment, you can guess where things headed with Brian. We went on a couple more friendly outings to Starbucks before he asked me out on a real date. He took me to Rudy’s Redeye Grill, which was a few miles over from the apartment building. He failed to mention we would be eating on the roof, but his huge grin told me it hadn’t been by accident.

“We’ve got a great view of the sunset from here,” he’d said. And he’d been right. There were just enough clouds to bathe us in a soft rosy glow and not completely burn our eyes. 

After dinner, we’d walked around Central Park for about an hour. He told me about how his dog story was going, and I talked about work. “You could always apply to LilyPad. They’re looking for interns, but I’m sure you could easily work toward a paying position.”

“I don’t know, Lizzie. Wouldn’t it reflect poorly on you if I were interning there and you pulled some strings to get me a job?” He nudged me, laughing. 

“It’s called helping a fellow writer in need.”

“I think you mean it’s called favoritism.”

“Think about it, okay? Your dog story has the potential of getting published a lot sooner.”

“I will, promise.”

He gave me a kiss on the cheek when we parted ways in the hallway later that night.

***

The few dates we went on were more or less the same. Both of us were on very limited incomes, but the consistency didn’t bother me. Getting to see him and talk about writing was something I looked forward to every week.

We rented a horse-drawn carriage on our last night out together. That was when he worked up the nerve to kiss me. It seemed perfect at the time: the sky was clear of smog and dotted with stars, Central Park was filled with flowers, and his hands were softly cradling my face. It almost felt too perfect to last.

And it was.

Our very last date was about a week later. We decided to stay in, and so I went over to his apartment for takeout and movies. Marie kept smirking at me and saying, “Don’t worry, I won’t wait up for you.” I glared at her, promising myself not to give her the satisfaction of being right.

After three cartons of lo mein and halfway through the first movie, I found myself on top of him, my fingers in his hair and one of his hands clumsily trying to unhook my bra. 

His bed had dark blue sheets, but it was hard to tell with the lights off. It took him a while to find a condom that hadn’t passed its expiration date. I didn’t bother telling him he’d be my first, because it didn’t seem to matter at the time. I wasn’t drunk and I knew what I wanted. 

The first time was awkward and lasted about two minutes. He apologized as we lay there, and finally I told him he could make it up to me by trying again. And he did. Three more times.

We slept in a tangle of sheets and spent the morning finishing the last of the lo mein while wrapped in blankets. He gave me a lingering kiss before I went back across the hallway. Marie didn’t even have to look at me to know what had happened.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” I warned.

She pouted. “Lizzieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

I sighed. “Fine. Five seconds.”

“YOU AND BRIAN ARE TOTALLY MEANT FOR EACH OTHER AND I ALREADY STARTED PLANNING YOUR WEDDING ON MY PINTEREST AND OH MY GOD YOU TOTALLY DID IT LAST NIGHT AND YOU GUYS ARE IN LOOOOOVE!!!!!!!!”

I tried to hide the smile that was spreading across my face, but it was hard; Marie’s enthusiasm was contagious. 

I only wish it would have lasted longer.


	5. It's Not Me, It's His Writing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, October 13th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I’d just like to kindly ask that my readers refrain from asking me for details concerning my sex life or anything else related to that. Guys, come on, this isn’t erotica, you know the rules; I’m keeping it PG-13.

Sam and Arlene Bloom were visiting the following week. I came home from work to find Marie, her boyfriend Dan, Brian, and his parents sitting at our small dining room table. Marie jumped up and tugged me over to a seat beside Brian.

He cleared his throat. “These are my parents, Sam and Arlene. Mom, Dad, this is my…this is Lizzie Benston.”

“Lovely to meet you, dear.” Arlene, standing to Brian’s left, shook my hand.

“Do we not have enough chairs?” I turned to Marie. “I thought we had six of these.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t want a chair.” Arlene smiled. “My back isn’t doing very well right now.”

“Mom…” Brian’s mouth was set in a thin line. “She’s being dramatic, it’s not your fault -”

“Oh, of course it’s not their fault, Brian.“

“I offered her the couch,” Marie said feebly.

“And I don’t want to be rude.”

“You don’t want to be out of the conversation,” Sam grumbled. “You have to stick your nose in everything and you can’t do that from ten feet away.”

Brian was eyeing his parents with what I can only call disappointment. 

“Lizzie’s a writer!” Marie said suddenly. “That’s all she and Brian talk about.”

“That’s right, she is!” Arlene clasped her hands. “Brian told us you’re published online. He says nothing but fantastic things about you.”

I blushed. “That’s very sweet of him -”

“I told him, ‘Brian, she sounds like a wonderful girl.’ He’s too shy to admit it, of course.”

“Mom, please don’t…”

“I told him, ‘Brian, she’s a keeper. Definitely a keeper.’ Are you familiar with the Jewish faith?”

“Mom!”

“I…I know a little bit about it…”

“Arlene, stop embarrassing our son.” Sam looked at me. “It’s not a problem if you’re not Jewish, she just has this thought in her head that Brian’s wife has to be. You know what I say?”

“Dad, please.”

“I say fuck it. You can believe in unicorns, for all I care. As long as you’re a moral person, no tax fraud, five parking tickets at most - tell me, do you use parking garages or do you park on the street?”

Dan got up and left the room, a hand over his mouth and Marie giving him a dirty look. Brian’s jaw was clenched, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

“I…”

“Don’t answer them, Lizzie.”

“Brian, you don’t have to be so rude,” Arlene said. “Lizzie, dear, have you discussed children with him yet?”

My heart stopped. I heard Marie snicker a little.

“Arlene, it’s a little too early for that. You’re using protection, aren’t you, Brian?”

Brian pushed back from the table. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”

“Don’t be silly, dear, we haven’t been here for very long!”

“No, please, stay as long as you’d like.” Marie’s voice was laced with laughter. “I haven’t had this much fun in quite a while.”

I ground my teeth, keeping quiet. She merely smiled at me.

“I hope that young man comes out of the bathroom soon,” Sam said. “My bladder’s about to explode.”

***

“Are you ready to take on the in-laws from hell?” Dan asked later that evening. “Jesus Christ.”

Marie shoved him. “Stop picking on her, they weren’t that bad.” She was smirking. “They were…charming.”

“Who even says we’re going to get married?” 

“Come on, Lizzie, you can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

“We’ve only been going out for less than two months.”

She shrugged. “It’s never too soon to think about something like that. Dan and I have been discussing it for a while, haven’t we?”

“You’re obsessive, though, you started planning our wedding after one week.”

“I did not!”

A knock on our door allowed me to step away from their bantering. It was Brian, his hair sticking out at odd angles. He’d been running his hand through it, which meant he was stressed.

“You wanna go for a walk? I feel bad about…”

“Sure.” I grabbed my jacket. “I’ll be back later.”

“Have fun making babies!” Dan called.

***

“Seriously, I’m really sorry about my parents. They’re overbearing and obnoxious and they do that with every girl I’m with.”

“So you’ve had multiple girlfriends?” I teased.

“I’ve…had a few.” He was wringing his hands. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured…”

“I don’t, promise.”

“Good. That’s…that’s good.”

“Brian, it’s nothing you have to worry about. You haven’t scared me off!”

He nodded. “Lizzie, I…I wanted to…talk about something.”

I froze for a second before continuing to walk. “Okay…about what?”

“Well, I…I haven’t been writing as much as I usually do, and that’s…you know, that’s not good.”

“Are you having writer’s block?”

“Of a sort, yeah.” His fingers pulled at his hair. “It’s been happening for quite a few weeks now. I’m usually on top of that sort of thing.”

“If you need some time to yourself, that’s totally fine.”

“It’s…it’s not that easy.”

We stopped under a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

“Lizzie, I really like you. Trust me, I think you’re…you’re radiant.”

I knew a “but” was coming.

“But…”

Fuck.

“But I think right now a steady relationship isn’t the best idea.”

I stared at him, my voice caught in my throat. 

“I just…I want to work on being able to have a steady income, you know? And my writing, it’s important to me. It’s nothing you did, don’t think that, okay? It was my fault for not using discretion.”

It’s not you, it’s me. How original.

“I really like spending time with you. So it’s…it’s not like we have to…stop being friends or anything.”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

“You’re mad, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Lizzie. I don’t want to do this, not to you.”

“It’s okay, Brian. I get it. I don’t want to get between you and your writing.”

“You’re not a burden, Lizzie. I just…I feel bad that we can’t do as much because I don’t have a job.”

I nodded. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know it’s not.”

He was right, it wasn’t okay. But at that moment, I felt numb. “Can we please go back?”

The walk to the building and the ride to the seventh floor were silent and awkward. He gave me one last kiss on the cheek before saying goodnight. 

“Sooooo are you having a boy or a girl?” Dan asked when I walked in.

I sunk to the floor, my breathing heavy.

“Liz?” Marie was by my side in an instant. “Lizzie, what happened?”

“He…he broke up with me. He doesn’t…he…”

“Why? I thought you guys were -”

“It’s not me,” I said, tears finally brimming. “It’s his writing."


	6. The Slump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, October 16th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

There’s a quote I see a lot on Pinterest and Tumblr:

“For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth.”

To me, this sounded like a way to romanticize suffering and hardship, but Marie taped it to the wall of my room a few days after Brian broke things off. She taped a lot of inspirational quotes there, when she wasn’t ranting about Brian.

“He’s such a bastard, who even says that? ‘I have to focus on my career.’ Shut the hell up and pull your head out of your ass.”

“Marie, he doesn’t have a job -”

“That’s his fault, then! He shouldn’t drag you into his weird inferiority complex, that’s not fair to you! I trusted him to be good to you and he just threw that out the window!”

She insisted I take a week off from work, but she didn’t protest when I left promptly at eight on Monday. She did the chores and made dinner, making me eat chocolate each night before I went to bed. I barely remember what I did at all; I was a robot, blank-faced and cold, hiding the turmoil going on in my head.

He doesn’t want you because you’re not pretty. He pitied you, he still does. How could you even have thought he’d love you? Silly Lizzie.

I cried when I was alone, my face hurt from holding it in when I was with Marie or at work. My voice constantly hitched when I spoke. “I’m fine.” “I don’t need a break, I’m okay.” Over and over, five times a day, ten, too many. Why did everyone care? What did they get out of it?

I called him and left messages. Asking why, asking if I’d done something. It was gibberish, the words lost even as I said them. “There has to be something I can do to fix this…please, Brian.” Quiet, pleading. Weak. He never answered.

Sometimes my mind would wander. Would he care if I moved away? If I died? Did he mean something else when he said he wanted to focus on work? I turned over the two months we were together in my head, analyzing, trying to pin the exact moment he knew he wanted out. Marie found me in the corner of my room, hitting my head repeatedly against the wall and whimpering. “Why?”

I didn’t see him at all during that time. If I had, I don’t know what I would have done; slapped him, maybe. Fall into his arms? Get on my knees to beg? Something that would have embarrassed me, I’m sure. 

Dan and Marie bought me a butterfly pendant. “Butterflies are super pretty, and they go through a long time in this confined space, you know?” Marie said. “So, like, that’ll be you when this is over. You’re going to feel amazing and free and the cocoon won’t be holding you back anymore with his dumb excuses.”

I wore it to be polite. I didn’t want some cute story about butterflies or stars. No one seemed to understand that pain wasn’t supposed to be pretty. The only one who did was across the hall, in his own world, already moving on with his life.


	7. Irony at its Finest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, October 20th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

On weekends, I’d hole myself in my bedroom, never opening the curtains, just keeping to myself. Marie let me do that for the first couple of Saturdays and Sundays after Brian broke up with me, but she didn’t allow me to do it forever.

“Liz, I found a bookstore a couple blocks over. There’s a coffee shop in the back and super comfy chairs. I think we should stop by today. Olly Olly Oxen Read, isn’t that adorable?”

I shrugged. 

“Liz? Earth to Lizzie!” She walked over to my bed and shook me. “Come on, we’re going out today.”

I shrugged again.

“Lizzie, I know it hurts. Trust me. But you can’t punish yourself by living in your room forever.”

“What’s the point?”

“Books make you happy. You being happy makes me happy. It’s a two-for-one deal.” She cocked her head, her lower lip out. “Please, Lizzie?”

“…I don’t know, Marie. I don’t have a lot of energy today.”

“We’ll get you some caffeine to perk you up. Maybe a cake pop? You love cake pops.”

I sat up. “Maybe…for a little while. Half an hour, tops.”

“I promise, it’s good for you to get out. I’ve been there, I know it’s hard, but being with people and having fun is a good way to anchor yourself. And don’t worry about paying for anything, it’s one me.”

I gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, Marie.”

“No problem. What kind of sister would I be if I just let you wallow in your misery?”

***

Olly Ollen Oxen Read is on the corner across from the 7th St. Walgreens, two floors, big comfy chairs and a ceiling-to-floor window on one wall. Add in two-dollar coffee and free wifi and it was perfect for someone like me. I didn’t have the heart to tell Marie she’d been right the first time we were there, but I’m sure she knew I was thankful.

She let me sit in a chair and read and she didn’t try to talk to me. It was nice to be somewhere safe, somewhere relatively quiet with my best friend. I didn’t have to think about Brian and I didn’t have to worry about how horrible I felt about myself. My brain wouldn’t focus on reality and it was just what I needed.

Marie bought me a few books that day. The guy behind the counter was tall, dark hair and a brooding expression and a gold-plated nametag: CONNOR. He told Marie the amount she owed and said, “Have a nice day” in a gravelly bottom-of-the-well voice before he turned his attention back to his laptop. 

“That’s new,” Marie said. “Usually he just gives me the total.”

“He doesn’t seem very friendly.”

“Connor’s harmless, he’s just not very talkative. I don’t blame him, that job must be boring as hell.“ 

“Well yeah, but what about customer service?”

“Family business. Doesn’t matter.” She nudged me. “He’s alright, not a big fan of words, but that’s not bad. Sometimes it’s a welcome change from someone who is.” She frowned. “I really wish I could punch him.”

“I know you do, Marie.” I sighed. “I do, too.”

***

We started a habit of going every day. I complained at first, but after a few times, I realized that I was starting to enjoy myself again. That little euphoria I felt the first time we’d gone was there every time we went back, and I wanted to bottle it, somehow. I wanted it to last, to drive out the conflict that was still going on in my head. 

One Friday afternoon, Marie was talking to Connor and I was reading nearby. Two children were whispering to each other; I realized after a moment they weren’t speaking English. I watched them for a moment, one of them pulling at a woman’s skirt. “Mama! Mama! Un papillon!” she said, holding up a hand.

The woman took whatever it was from her daughter, glancing around. I’d gone back to my book, but soon I felt her presence right in front of me. It threw me off, because she had an aura of sophistication. Her hair was held back in a loose bun, a few wisps framing her face; she was regarding me with dark, kind eyes. 

“Is this yours?” Her voice was thick with a French accent. “My children found it on the floor.” She was holding my butterfly pendant.

“…Yeah, that’s…that’s mine.” I took it, looking down at my cardigan pocket; there was a hole in it. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. It’s a lovely necklace. I’m happy to have returned it.” She gave me a small smile before turning away and leaving the store with her children. 

I didn’t think much of that, not at the time. I had no idea that the woman I had met would cross paths with me again. I had no idea she would cause me as much pain as she did.


	8. A Friendly Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, October 23rd, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I’d like to address several of you who have been claiming to be Brian Bloom in the comments section and sending me suggestive emails. I know you’re harassing me, and I know for a fact that Brian doesn’t have an account. So please refrain from trolling and take your nonsense to a 4chan forum.

Connor Walsh gave the same gruff parting each time Marie and I left the bookstore. “Have a nice day” would be said in varying levels of baritone, so quiet that sometimes I wondered if he’d even muttered anything at all. His face was stone, unmoving, his eyes on his computer screen unless he was scanning books.

Marie would talk to him while I read. I could never hear what he said, or if he even spoke; for all I knew, he would nod or make some kind of facial expression to communicate. “He’s an interesting guy, I wish you’d talk to him,” she told me. “I think you’d like him.”

Like I really needed another man in my life after what had happened the month before. I didn’t care if it was romantic or not, I didn’t want any potential pain, not when I still felt so raw.

She was at the counter again one Tuesday when I went up to her to let her know I was ready to go home. “So, Connor,” she said, “I was wondering if you could give me a book recommendation.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Why do you need my opinion?”

“I’d like a fresh opinion.” She gave me a smile before turning back to him. “You have any titles in mind?”

He stared at her, his brow furrowing even further. “What kind of books do you normally read?”

“YA, usually. I like fantasy, but I’d like to branch out a little bit. It’s all become one big blur of magic and shirtless guys.”

Connor nodded. “I think a good starter would be John Green. Try The Fault in Our Stars.”

I bristled; Marie started giggling. “Oh, that…that was the wrong answer, Connor. Lizzie absolutely hates that book, and I’ve heard enough about it that I don’t think I’d want to pick it up.”

He turned his steely gaze to me. “You didn’t like it?”

I shook my head.

“Can I ask why you didn’t?”

I shrugged. “It was really underwhelming, if I’m being honest. It had this hype surrounding it and everyone said it was so sad and the story was just so profound…and when I finally read it, I just didn’t get any of that.”

“And how wasn’t it profound?”

I gritted my teeth. “Are you kidding me? It was unrealistic and wish-fulfillment fodder when it was claiming to be the opposite. Hazel and Gus didn’t speak like normal teenagers. I found Hazel to be self-entitled and holier-than-thou. The kiss in the Annex…don’t even get me started.”

I waited for him to come at me with an insult, some kind of “you don’t understand” mentality that came from so many fans of any popular form of media. Instead, his lips quirked into a crooked smile.

“I see where you’re coming from. It’s not the best book I’ve read, not by any means. John Green’s just trying to make his characters smarter than adults think they are, that’s why they’re so intellectual.”

“But who waxes soliloquies at that age? In the twenty-first century?”

“Gus was putting up a front -”

“I’ve heard that argument before, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like him.”

“And you don’t have to. He’s not realistic at all, and you’re right, he’s wish-fulfillment. But coming from someone who isn’t the target demographic, I found him to be inspiring, in a sense. He wants to impress this girl he’s met and he wants to share something with her, something special, something that won’t last. He wants to make an impression on the world but he has very little time to do so. He learns that he doesn’t have to be remembered by a lot of people to have lived a good life. He thinks he knows what he wants and he finds something completely different.”

I nodded, stunned.

“You see, everyone thinks that the book is Hazel’s story, but to me, it’s Gus that goes through the biggest change. She’s simply the catalyst that helps him through his journey, not the other way around.”

“So the cancer aspect? Is it a cancer book or a book that happens to have it as a plot device?”

He chucked, a low sound. “That’s a loaded question. The events are certainly driven by the disease, because without it, there wouldn’t be a sense of urgency or a sense of purpose. But at the same time, Hazel and Gus establish themselves to be more than their afflictions, pardon the pun. I feel like it can be argued either way.”

“So you’re not going to tell me I’m a hater?”

“Not if you don’t tell me I’m just a delusional fan.”

Marie cleared her throat. “So, I think I might just reread Divergent again. Thanks for the input, though, I might have to read it someday.”

Connor told us to have a nice day when we left, the crooked smile still on his face. 

***

“Sooooooo I think that went well.”

I glanced at Marie over my cooked vegetables. “What, the bookstore?”

She nodded, smiling. “That’s the most he’s ever said to me. Or, to you. To anyone.”

“No, Marie, I’m not doing this.”

“I didn’t say you had to date him, did I? He’s nice, and he knows his books.”

“Yes, he’s so knowledgeable in one genre.” I rolled my eyes.

“He knows more than that, okay? I just want you to be okay with making friends.”

“I have you and Dan and I have my co-workers -”

“New friends, Lizzie.”

“Well, I made friends with Brian, like you said. And look how well that turned out.”

“Brian’s a fucking idiot, okay?” Her voice rose a little. “One failed attempt shouldn’t keep you from getting to know other people.”

I stood, grabbing my plate. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Lizzie -”

“Just let me think. I’m not going into this if I’m not ready.”

“And when are you going to be ready? When you’re thirty?”

I didn’t answer her. I dropped my plate in the sink and went to my room, locking my door and not emerging until the next morning.


	9. Rivers of Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, October 27th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I’d like to put in a warning that I touch on something that could potentially be triggering to some of my readers. Self-harm is very serious and I want to express how important it is to talk to someone if you practice it. You’re stronger than you think, and you are not alone.

During that low point in my life, I’m surprised more people didn’t mention the growing number of bruising that showed up on my left arm. I suppose most didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to push. Maybe my dad was being rough with me. Maybe I’d fallen down the stairs. No questions, no answers, life went on.

The first time I pinched myself, I was in the bathroom brushing my hair. Those awful intrusive thoughts came back. Brian didn’t love you. He thinks you’re weak. You’re so pathetic. I gripped the handle of the brush, pressing the plastic bristles into my skull, harder and harder.

You’re so stupid for thinking he’d ever want someone like you.

I put my brush down and pinched my left arm. “Stop it,” I told myself. “Stop.”

You deserve the pain. You deserve to suffer.

“Knock it off,” I said to my reflection, increasing the pressure. I let go and moved a fraction of an inch, pulling at my skin. “You need to stop.”

You’re not worth it. You don’t deserve to be happy.

I kept moving along my arm, harder and harder. It wasn’t true, none of it was true. I had to stop. I HAD TO STOP.

Marie knocked on the bathroom door, and I jumped. “You done in there, Lizzie?”

“Y-yeah,” I said, pulling my pajama sleeve down. “Give me a second.”

***

Whenever the thoughts came back, I’d pinch my arm. Over and over, harder and harder, sharp and unbearable. But I set my jaw and I kept at it. Bruises began to show up where my skin had turned red. My arm felt like lead and something as simple as brushing against the wall made me wince. 

You don’t deserve to be happy.

The purple and black, blue and yellow, a sick kind of Mark of Cain. I was branded as undesirable, unworthy, a failure. No one was going to pick up the broken pieces of my heart, no one would stitch them back together. No one wanted to. Why would they?

If Marie suspected or noticed, she didn’t say a word. She refused to be overbearing, but this was one time I wouldn’t have minded if she had been. It became almost like a bet I had with myself. How long can I go on like this? Will Marie or anyone else ever tell me to stop? How many bruises can my arm sustain?

How many do I deserve?

***

Connor and I didn’t speak much after that first debate. We exchanged a few words about what we were reading, but nothing beyond small talk. Marie was probably disappointed that I hadn’t connected with him, but she again stayed silent about it. It wasn’t worth arguing about.

She was grocery shopping one Sunday and she was going to meet me at Olly Olly Oxen Read. I was in the coffee shop reading when Connor sat down at a table nearby. He cleared his throat and I looked up from my book. “Hey.”

“Hey. Um…are you okay?”

“Why?”

“It looks like your left arm took a beating…”

I tried to tug my cardigan sleeve over my arm. “It’s nothing, I promise…”

“Lizzie -”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you absolutely sure that you’re okay?”

“It’s. None. Of your fucking business.” I stormed to the bathroom, locking myself in the handicap stall. He wouldn’t follow me, he wasn’t that stupid.

I stayed on the floor for a while, curled behind the toilet and silently crying. My fingertips were sore from pinching, but I kept at it, holding it for longer than I had before. How many more today? Tomorrow? How many before my arm was one big bruise?

You weren’t careful. It’s your fault he saw. You don’t need his pity. You’re not worth it. He thinks you’re a freak.

I hit my head against the wall, bringing my arm to my mouth. I bit down.

You’re a failure, you know that? Brian was right to get rid of you. You’re unlovable and you’re ugly. 

I pulled my mouth away, looking at the little indents forming an oval. I moved to a fleshier part of my arm and bit myself again.

Poor little Lizzie, desperate for love. You’re not going to get it. You don’t matter. YOU DON’T MATTER!

“Lizzie?”

I jumped. Connor’s shoes had appeared in the gap between the floor and the door of the stall. 

“Lizzie, are you okay?”

“Please leave.” I hiccuped a little. 

“I’m not leaving until you open the door. Is…is someone hurting you?”

“Connor, please go away!” My voice hitched.

“Okay. I’m going, promise.” His feet moved, and a second later the door closed. 

I sat for a moment, shivering. I got up, walking to the sink. My left arm was red, dotted with yellow and blue bruises, the two bite marks still visible. I rubbed at my eyes with paper towels, the material like sandpaper. I was exhausted from keeping everything to myself. 

Walking out of the bathroom, I saw that Connor had returned to his lunch. He looked up when he saw me approaching. “Is…is there a place we can talk? Without people?”

***

He took me to his office, a decent-sized light blue room next to the cookbooks on the first floor. He didn’t sit behind his desk like I thought he would; he gave me his wheeled chair to sit in, pulling up a stool to perch on. “I’m not going to say anything unless you want me to,” he said. 

I nodded, biting my lip. We sat in silence for a few minutes. “No one’s hurting me. I’m not in an abusive relationship and I don’t have abusive parents.”

He watched me, his face blank, no signs of anger.

I took a deep breath. “I’ve been…pinching myself. And today, I bit myself a couple of times.” 

His eyes drifted to my arm as I rolled up my sleeve. He inhaled, his eyes widening a little. He opened his mouth to say something, but pursed his lips.

“Do you have any questions about this?”

“How long have you been doing this for?”

“I don’t know…a month?”

“Has anyone else said anything to you?”

I shook my head. “You’re the first.”

“Marie hasn’t…”

“No.”

“…Why?”

I swallowed, my eyes burning. “I need you to not talk or say anything when I tell you, okay?”

“Okay.”

I ground my teeth. “I was dating someone, he lives across the hall from us. He broke up with me because he wants to focus on his work. And…I feel like there’s more to it, but he won’t talk to me. I feel like he’s trying to keep from telling me it’s my fault, but it doesn’t matter either way because I know I must have done something. So I just…I think things. And every time I do, I try to stop. And then I find myself pinching my arm and…yeah…”

He sat quietly, nodding slightly. I started to cry again, bringing my legs up and burying my face in my knees. 

“You can talk now,” I mumbled.

I didn’t think he’d heard me when he didn’t speak right away. Finally, I heard him ask, “Would you like a hug?”

I raised my head, shrugging once.

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

I said nothing.

He stood. “You want to go back out?”

“No.”

“Do you need me to give you some time alone?”

“No. I…I don’t want to be by myself.”

“Do you want -”

“I don’t know what I want!”

“And that’s okay.”

“Okay? Connor, look at my arm! Look at what I did!” I got to my feet, holding it out toward him. “Is this okay? Do you think I enjoy doing this to myself? Do you think I like hurting myself?”

He pressed his back to the wall. “How are you feeling about all of this?”

“You’re not a psychiatrist, don’t fucking act like one. I don’t want to do this anymore, but I don’t know what else to do! I want…I want to…”

“What do you want, Lizzie?”

“I WANT TO KNOW WHY! I FUCKING WANT TO KNOW WHY!” 

He stepped forward, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, sobbing against his shoulder. His arms came around my back, rocking us back and forth.

“I want to know why…why he did this. I want…I want to know what’s wrong with me. I want…I want to change. I want him to take me back. I want him back…”

He didn’t answer me. He just stood there, being careful not to press himself against my sore arm, letting me soak his sweater with my tears.

I fell apart as he held me, incinerating, unable to stop myself.


	10. Courage and Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, October 30th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I’d like to address some concerned readers that sent me messages a few days ago. Yes, I’m okay. No, I’m no longer self-harming. It took me quite a while to stop, but I did. Thank you for worrying, but I promise you I’m okay.

Connor called Marie back to his office when she arrived a while later. She was devastated, to say the least; she was quietly yelling at me and hugging me and pacing and pulling at her hair. Connor finally had to sit her down and keep his hands on her shoulders to keep her from getting up.

“He’s not worth any of this, Liz!” She started to tear up. “You shouldn’t punish yourself for something he did to you!”

“I’m…I’m sorry -”

“Do you really hate yourself that much?!”

“I -”

“Marie.” Connor’s brow was furrowed. “She needs our support right now.”

“I’d give it to her if she didn’t keep stuff like this from me!”

“She needs it no matter what, okay?” 

“You’re just going to let her keep hurting herself, then? What happens if she starts using a knife? Or a razor? What if she overdoses?”

“Marie, please calm down.”

“Who are you to tell me to be calm!”

“Marie, I’m sorry.” I walked over to her, wringing my hands. “I didn’t want to bother you with this.”

“Bother?! Lizzie, this is incredibly serious! You wouldn’t have been bothering me at all! Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I…I felt like this was something I had to do by myself.”

“Marie, we have to be rational about this,” Connor said. “I know it’s hard.”

“How would you know?”

He pursed his lips. “Lizzie, we’ll be here to help, alright? If we make you uncomfortable, just let us know.”

Marie stood up, sniffling. “I’m sorry I…got upset. I worry. For good reason.” She wrapped an arm around me. “But Connor’s right…I think.”

“Damn right I’m right,” he muttered.

“The point is, we’re going to be here and we’re going to get you through this. No one deserves to have that bastard control how they feel.”

“It’s not his fault though.”

“Oh trust me. It’s his fault.” 

“But -”

“His. Fault. End of discussion.”

***

Every time I had an intrusive though, I was to write it out on a piece of paper. If it was too overwhelming, I would sit with Marie or call Connor and talk with either of them about how I was feeling. Marie always had ice cream and blankets readily available; Connor was better at words, at calming me down by making me think rationally.

Marie recruited Dan to help out and he wanted to write something on my left arm to keep me from pinching. “How about, ‘Brian Bloom sucks’?”

“Dan, we’re trying to help her, not remind her of that douchebag.”

He rolled his eyes. “Does it have to be civil?”

“Yes, please,” I said. “I work in an office, I’d rather not have something vulgar on my arm.”

He thought for a minute. “What’s that sappy quote from that Disney movie we went to? ‘Kick ass and take names’?”

“Have courage and be kind?”

“Same difference, right?”

I laughed. “I guess. I think it’s a good one.”

“That’s perfect!” Marie waited for Dan to finish writing before she drew a tiny butterfly over the “i”. 

“Marie, that’s such a third-grade thing to do,” Dan said.

“It’s cute, shut up!” She stuck out her tongue at him.

“So it’s not going to come off?” I asked.

“Well, it’s a permanent marker, so we’ll have to touch it up after a few days or so. But it should be strong enough to last you for quite a while.”

I looked in the mirror. It was a little messy, but it was easy to read: Have courage and be kind. 

“Should be easy for you to remember, Liz, you’re always brave and kind.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you.” I smiled, trying to keep myself from blushing.

***

Later that night was the first time I’d seen Brian since he’d broken up with me. It was a little after seven when he came strolling down the hallway, his hair a little messy and a goofy grin on his face. I clutched the trash bag in my hand, wanting to turn around and run back into the apartment.

Have courage and be kind.

I squared my shoulders and walked toward the elevator. Don’t speak unless he says something.

“Lizzie!”

Dammit. I turned to look at him. “Brian. Hello.”

“How’ve…how’ve you been?”

“Okay.” No thanks to you. “Yourself?”

His grin widened. “Amazing, actually. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to speak with you sooner, things have been…busy.”

I’m sure. “Well, I hope you have a nice evening.”

“You, too.”

I nodded, giving him a forced smile and walking away. As I pressed the first floor button with shaking fingers, I breathed out, my heart pounding. I’d done it. I hadn’t had a breakdown.

It was strange that he’d had dark red on the corner of his blazer collar, though. It looked like lipstick.

I pushed the thought out of my head, loosening my grip on the trash bag and trying to calm my racing heart.


	11. Sunny Day Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m. Tuesday, November 3rd, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> A warning to my readers: I mention self-harm again in this part. If it’s triggering to you in any way, please don’t read.

“Have courage and be kind” didn’t last the night. It survived the shower, but as soon as I knew Dan and Marie were holed up in her room, I pinched my arm, the marker staining my skin. It was a mess of black by the time I was done.

I woke up early to avoid them asking questions, knowing they’d want to see my arm. I went to Olly Olly Oxen Read, walking right up to the register Connor was sitting at.

“You have a minute?”

It was probably not very smart of him to just leave his post with a “Registered Closed” sign; I found it odd he didn’t say anything to his parents. But I suppose telling them he needed to talk to me meant telling them about what I was doing. And Connor wasn’t going to say anything if I didn’t want him to.

“Is it alright if I ask you what happened?” he asked once his office door was closed.

“Dan and Marie had the idea to write something on my arm, to keep me from pinching. And it worked for about two hours, but then I saw Brian.”

“Your ex?”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t have been too bothered, but he…he was happy.”

“Do you know what about?”

I remember the lipstick on his blazer. “I…I don’t even know. He was smiling and his face was lit up and…I’ve never seen him look like that before.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He apologized for not returning my calls or talking to me. He’s been busy.” I snorted. “I thought I was doing so well, and now I’m right back to hurting myself.”

“Lizzie, it takes a while to stop something like self-harm. You’re not just going to be cured overnight.”

“Am I broken, then? Am I a machine that just resets itself every time I see him? Every time I think about him?”

“You’re not a machine, Lizzie -”

“Then what am I?”

“Someone who’s expecting for things to just magically be better! That’s not how life works! You’re going to relapse, it’s going to happen! Accept it and move on, learn from it, don’t dwell on it.”

“Why even bother trying when I know I’m going to fail again?”

He gave me a full-on glare, dangerous, harder than his usual resting frown. “If you don’t try, you’re never going to learn and you’re going to stay in the same place. Is that what you want? Do you want this one thing to ruin your entire life? Are you going to let some asshole dictate how you see yourself?”

I swiveled away from him, staring at the wall. “What did I say about being a psychiatrist? Don’t act like you know everything.”

“Would you stop assuming that I’m forcing my advice onto you?!”

“The whole reason I came here was because I trusted you wouldn’t yell at me! Marie and Dan would have done that, I don’t need it from you!”

“It’s frustrating to just sit by and watch you struggle, okay?! I’m not as vocal as Marie is because my parents were the same way when I was cutting!”

I felt a cold shiver run through me. I turned slowly to face him. “You…you used to cut?”

His face softened a bit as he nodded. “A few years ago, yeah. My last year of college.”

I wanted to ask why, but I had no idea what to even say. I’m sorry? That sucks? I’m glad you’re not doing it anymore?

“I’m demisexual. That’s why I was doing it. I learned from all my time on the Internet and my blog that I wasn’t straight. And growing up how I did, I knew the majority of my extended family wasn’t going to believe me if I said anything. My parents were a lot more accepting than I was when I told them, ironically enough. But I didn’t know where else to put my rage and stress, so…one night in the shower I just…”

“And they didn’t take it well?”

“They were worried, of course. They made me go to counseling and I had to shave with one of them watching and I couldn’t go near sharp objects of any kind for months. And them being paranoid made me feel worse, which made me want to keep cutting because it was my fault I’d made them worry in the first place.”

“So what did you do?”

He sat on the edge of his desk. “I talked to someone I trusted, like you talked to me. My cousin Jane is pretty mature for being a year older than me, and she didn’t push, she didn’t judge. She just listened to me talk and she asked me how I was feeling and when I asked her for help, she gave it.”

“And that’s what you wanted to do for me?”

“You’re my friend, Lizzie. And I know something like this is hard to go through when you’re alone.”

I looked up at him. “You’re ashamed you’re demisexual?”

“Not anymore, but when I first found out, yeah.” He shrugged. “The majority of my family’s Catholic. I know they’re not going to excommunicate me, but they think I’m making it up. Men aren’t supposed to be that way. No one is.”

I swallowed, my hands sweating. “How…how did Jane react when she found out?”

“She didn’t. She just nodded and accepted it. She’s always been open-minded about everything, and she asked some questions, but she didn’t…she didn’t make me feel like it was my fault. It took me about a year before I was comfortable enough to be out about all of this, but having her there really helped.”

“So you’re not…you’re not upset with me about this, then?”

“Emotionally, yes, because I don’t like seeing you like this. But no, I’m not upset that you did this. I’m here to help, and I’m going to keep my emotions out of it, because you don’t deserve that.”

He offered to rewrite the quote on my arm, including the butterfly. His brow wrinkled in concentration and his tongue stuck out a little between his lips. My cheeks were red even after he’d finished.

“Don’t get discouraged when you relapse, okay? You can always talk to me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Connor.” 

“Marie’s right. That quote suits you.”

“I don’t feel brave -”

“You are. Trust me.”

I smiled a little as I walked out. “I trust you.”


	12. The Second Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, November 6th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Bi-Weekly Online Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

It’s funny, what conclusions you can leap to when you’re not thinking clearly. Or rather, when your mind is rushing to create an answer that will satisfy your curiosity. Marie, for example, was convinced that Connor and I were now ready to start a proper relationship based on our heartfelt conversation, when the two of us both knew we were nowhere near that point. 

“It’s going to happen, I promise you,” she told me. “There’s no way you guys won’t at least date, at some point.”

“Can it wait until my heart’s healed?”

“Well, yeah.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “I just want you to be happy again, Lizzie.”

Being happy all the time is exhausting, but I did my best. It got easier for me to remember that I had something written on my arm, and the urge to pinch decreased the more I had to occupy me. I had a couple more run-ins with Brian in the hallway, but each time I called Connor and he came over to our apartment to watch movies. I sat between him and Marie, snuggled in blankets.

That lipstick on Brian’s blazer wasn’t my imagination, as it turned out. Dan had been in the elevator with Brian one night a little after seven, and he said Brian’s mouth had looked a little red.

“I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone.”

“Dan, come on, not in front of Lizzie.”

“It’s fine, Marie.” I shrugged, going back to my laptop screen. “I kind of suspected he already was.”

“Have either of you actually seen him with anyone?”

“No, but you can just tell by looking at him,” Dan said.

“That doesn’t mean anything! I think you would have seen him bringing someone to his apartment, right?”

“Marie, he lives in a dorm room. Right, Lizzie?”

“He has a single room apartment, Marie, it’s not as nice or as big as ours.” My eyes didn’t leave the screen, my teeth clenching slightly.

“There you go! He wouldn’t want to be bringing anyone back to his little hobbit hole. Maybe they’re meeting up at a hotel or something -”

“Okay, we’re done.” Marie walked after me as I headed toward the bathroom. “We’re done talking about it.”

***

Marie announced later that evening that she’d texted Connor and they both agreed that it would be a good idea to go on an outing to Central Park. “It’s going to be an all-day, relaxing experience. No talking about anything sad. Just the four of us having fun.”

“I have work stuff to do -”

“Then bring your laptop with.”

Dan groaned. “Marie, Central Park is outside. You know I don’t like bugs, or sun. Or fresh air.”

“Dan, you’re not going to die from sitting in the grass. I promise.”

“Did you even ask if we want to go?” He turned to me. “Do you want to do this?”

“Who wouldn’t want to go spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the park?”

“I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t like tourists? And noise?”

“I’m trying to put together a nice little outing and you’re just ruining it!”

I cleared my throat a few times before they stopped arguing. “It would have been nice of you to ask me first, yes.”

Dan pointed at me. “See?”

“But I think it’s a good idea.”

“Hah!” Marie ruffled Dan’s hair. “You can help me pack the food, Dan.”

Dan gave me a wounded look as he followed her into the kitchen.

***

Central Park is visited by 40 million people each year on average. That means there’s a little less than 110,000 people there on a given day. Because it’s so big, you’d probably never even notice, unless you purposefully chose to be in a crowded area. Which we made sure not to do, on Dan’s request.

“You wanted this to be relaxing,” was his reasoning. “So let’s keep it that way.”

Connor met us outside of our building around 8 in the morning. He had a huge bottle of sunblock in his hand and asked if I could put it in my backpack. “I burn really easily, I’d rather not wake up tomorrow looking like a tomato.”

“Dude, SPF 50? You’re going to be a ghost!” Dan said.

“Ghosts don’t have peeling skin.”

“You’ll be a beacon, I can just strap you to my car instead of turning on the headlights.”

“Glad to know I can be useful to you.”

We spent the first twenty minutes under a tree, people watching. Dan decided to make up stories about each person we saw, and we’d add on as we saw fit.

“His name is Dillon PaPillon.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“That’s his alias. His real name is secret. He’s a hitman, on the run from the cops. Very dangerous man, fifty-seven confirmed hits.”

“That name is so silly though -”

“He spends his days doing crossword puzzles in pen, because he lives on the edge.”

“Can we please change his name?”

“Fine, we can change the fucking name. Jesus, you guys.”

Eventually, we convinced Dan to move over to the shore of Turtle Pond. We were lucky enough to find an open spot for the four of us, and after eating our peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate pudding, we spent the early part of the afternoon throwing a tennis ball that was at the bottom of my backpack. Dan and Marie eventually went closer to the water to dip their feet in and do couple things (read: give each other kisses when they thought no one was looking), which left Connor and me to sit on Marie’s blanket. He didn’t mind me working on my laptop, but after a while I got sidetracked by talking to him. Not that I minded at all, because he always managed to keep me interested and I always felt like we were equal if we didn’t agree on something.

“That one looks like a dragon head with rabbit ears.” We were laying side by side, looking up at the clouds.

“The one next to it looks like a foot with no toes.”

“You ever notice that TV lies about clouds?” he asked. “There are never clear shapes, just strange lumps that resemble vague objects.”

“That’s always bothered me. But I think this is a lot more fun.” I snorted. “Don’t tell Dan, but that one kind of looks like a dick.”

“I heard that!” His head snapped up. “Oh my God, it totally does! Marie! That cloud looks like a dick! And it has balls, too!”

She shoved him. “Dan, there are kids nearby!”

“So?”

She shoved him harder, and he fell over into the shallow water. “So you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“No, you just accomplished that.” He yanked her in, the two of them splashing each other and laughing.

“Are they always like that?”

I giggled. “Yeah. They make it work, somehow.”

“They seem pretty happy to me.”

“They are. I mean, he spends enough time in our apartment, so I hope they are.”

He turned his head to look at me. “You feeling alright?”

I nodded. “...You know, I...” I stopped, my heart pounding as I slowly sat up. There was no way he was here right now. He couldn’t have picked to spend his day in this part of Central Park.

But there he was. Brian Bloom was playing baseball with two young children several yards away from us, on the other side of the path. 

“Lizzie? Are you okay?” He turned to look at where my gaze was fixed, his face morphing from confusion to recognition. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer, my mouth dry.

“Lizzie, you’re safe. I’m right here. No one is going to hurt you.”

I felt my hands start to shake as I reached over to take one of his in my own.

“Just breathe. Take deep breaths. Everything is going to be okay.”

I blinked, suddenly determined to talk to Brian. I calmly stood and began to walk toward him.

“Lizzie? Lizzie, what are you...” 

I didn’t turn around to see if Connor was following. I squared my shoulders and walked across the grass and over the concrete to where Brian was.

Brian had his hands in the air, cheering as he ran to retrieve a whiffle ball that one of the children had hit. There was a woman in a magenta dress standing nearby, clapping and watching as Brian came jobbing back. Part of me was screaming to go back, but my feet propelled me forward. 

“Hello, Brian.”

He dropped the ball. “Lizzie! Hi!” His gaze was rapidly shifting toward the woman and then back to me. “It’s...great to see you. Out of the building, I mean.”

“Yeah, I figured it would be nice to spend the day outside. The weather’s lovely.”

“Yes. Lovely.”

The woman was watching us, and I registered that she looked familiar from somewhere. It wasn’t until one of the children pointed at me and said, “Papillon!” that I remembered where I’d seen her.

“I know you...” I said.

“You know each other?” Brian’s voice hitched at the end, high and uncomfortable.

“Not formally.” The woman gave me a warm smile. “I’m glad to see your necklace is securely fastened this time.”

“Thank you?...”

Brian cleared his throat. “Um. Lizzie, this is Arielle Pierpont, she’s a...good friend. Arielle, this is Lizzie Benston, my...my neighbor and...”

“Former girlfriend,” I finished quietly.

“Yes. That.”

Arielle extended her hand to me. “Enchanté,” she said, her shake short and firm. 

“That means she’s enchanted to meet you,” Brian said.

“I know what it means.” My voice was clipped, harsher than I’d meant it to be. “How...how do you two know each other?”

Brian’s face was completely red, but Arielle’s smile simply widened. “Brian’s a very good friend of the family. This is so strange, I never would have guessed that we would see each other again.” She turned to Brian. “Why didn’t you mention her before?”

“It wasn’t important,” Brian muttered, kicking at the grass. 

“Right.” My chest ached. “It’s not important.”

There was a short silence before anyone spoke again. 

“We should be off.” Arielle walked forward and kissed Brian on both cheeks. “Thank you for watching them today.” She took her children’s hands, walking down the path. “It was wonderful to meet you, Lizzie!”

“You, too.” I waited until they were out of earshot, all the things I wanted to say jumbling together in my brain. “I’m not important enough to talk about to anyone, am I?”

“Lizzie, that’s not what I meant. You don’t understand.”

“Are you done with the cliches, Brian? Because I certainly am.”

“I said I was sorry for not returning your calls or talking to you, but I hardly think sorting this out in public is the best way to resolve this.”

“Are you...are you embarrassed by me?”

“No! No, of course not!”

“Is that why you can’t even tell your friends about me?”

“Lizzie, I’m telling you the truth, it’s complicated -”

"Fine. I’ll humor you.” I sighed. “I just want you to talk to me again. We don’t have to do anything, I just...I miss you.”

I’ll never know what he was going to say in response to that, because Marie, Dan, and Connor joined us at that moment.

“Lizzie, what the hell are you doing with him?!” Marie stood in front of me, her arms out. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Brian, but we don’t want you anywhere near Lizzie. And she doesn’t want you near her, either.”

“Marie, it’s not his fault -”

“What are you playing at, Mr. Bloom?” Dan was still soaking wet as he walked around Brian, glaring at him. “Are you just asking for me to kick your ass? Because I will.”

“Dan,” Marie said, “don’t even -”

“I know you’ve been seeing someone else. That’s why you broke up with Lizzie, isn’t it?”

“Dan, stop!”

“Why don’t you tell us why you really broke things off with her, hmmm?”

“DAN.”

“You lay a hand on me, and I’ll press charges,” Brian said. 

“We don’t want trouble.” Connor stepped forward, his usual frown a little more intense than usual. “Dan, step off.”

“But -”

“Dan. Step off. Please.”

Dan stuck his tongue out before standing beside Marie, arms folded.

“Did you say something to Lizzie?” Connor asked.

“No.”

“Ddi you do anything to her?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.” He turned around. “I think we should leave him alone, then.”

“Who the hell are you, her bodyguard?”

Connor’s lip twitched as he faced Brian again. “I’m watching out for her. Something you obviously never did.”

Brian opened his mouth, flustered. The four of us walked away, Dan turning back to yell, “Yeah, so fuck off!”

We left the park right after, going back to the apartment. Marie insisted that I rest and let her baby me the rest of the night, but I told her not to worry.

“I’m...I’m feeling okay about all of this. I didn’t break down and I didn’t feel upset. It was...it felt good to stand up to him.”

“Lizzie, are you sure?”

“Yes. I...I’m not scared of him anymore.”

I was half telling the truth. I wasn’t scared of Brian Bloom. I was scared of seeing him with someone else. And I had no idea that what I had seen that day had offset that fear.


	13. A Tease of Brilliance, or Realizing What’s Been Right in Front of You This Entire Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, November 10th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> I’d just like to let you guys know that this was incredibly difficult for me to recount. It was painful to experience and that pain is still very tangible to me whenever I think about this. But I’m at the point where I want to share what happened with people outside of my loved ones, because it’s a huge reason why I’m writing this in the first place.

I met Jane Hastings, Connor’s cousin, the following Friday evening. Jane, at 25, was a little taller than me, curly brown hair and bright eyes, witty with a strange sense of humor, sure of herself in ways I could never even hope to be. She was an editor for a publishing house down the street from my office, and judging by all of that information combined, I was sure I’d found out who Brian had left me for.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

The day after the park, we received a knock on our door from Brian. My job was to keep Dan on the couch and away from the threshold, because we all knew he’d fail to restrain himself if no one was keeping tabs on him.

“To what do we owe this incredible honor?” Marie asked.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday -”

“It’s over and done with. What do you want, Brian?”

“I came over to apologize…and I kind of wanted to talk to Lizzie -”

“She’s not here.”

He peered over Marie’s shoulder. “She’s sitting right there.”

“She’s not available for talking right now.”

“Marie, I can see her!”

“Fuck off, Brian!” Dan said.

“I wasn’t talking to you!”

I didn’t look at him, saying nothing.

Brian sighed. “Fine. I wanted to let you and Lizzie know that I won an award from The New Yorker. They’re going to publish one of my stories.”

“Whoopdeefuckingdo,” Dan mumbled.

“Congrats.” Marie shrugged. “Did you come over to gloat?”

“No, there’s…there’s a ceremony on Friday.” He handed her something. “The details are all right there. I thought I’d…invite you two to be there, if you wanted. Kind of like a peace offering?” He stood on his toes, looking in my direction. “Lizzie, I know things have gotten bad between us, but I really want to make it up to you, I promise. Maybe we can talk on Friday?”

“We’ll think about it,” Marie said. “Thank you for inviting us.” She began to shut the door.

“Could you let me know if -”

“We’ll think about it.” The door clicked and she read over the sheet of paper in her hand. “It’s at the New York Public Library, seven at night. Formal wear.”

“Sounds boring,” Dan said.

“It’s just for Lizzie and me, Dan. He didn’t say you.”

“Well, good. I’ll just hang here the entire night.” He put his feet up on the coffee table. “I’ll keep the place safe from burglars while you two are out.”

“I don’t even know if we’re going. It’s up to Lizzie.”

I got up and looked at the flyer. “My boss is probably going to be there, it’s kind of a big deal when someone wins stuff like this.”

“So you can hear all about it from her.”

“I…he seemed like he was sorry, Marie.”

“Yeah. He seemed. That’s the key phrase.” She balled the paper up, tossing it in the trashcan near the door. “I don’t trust him for a second.”

“What did he even want to talk to me about? I won’t know unless we see him.”

“You’re not talking to him, he’s just going to convince you that he’s right and you’re being clingy or something!”

“But what if he really wants to make it up to me? I want closure with him. I know you want to keep me from getting hurt again, but I think right now what I need is to talk to him. Really, honestly talk to him. And if the only way I can do it is on Friday at the library, then I want to go.”

Marie kept her jaw clenched and didn’t say a word for a moment.

“Marie, it’s not like she’ll be there by herself,” Dan said. “You’ll be there with her and you can intervene if something happens.”

“I don’t want him pulling anything stupid.”

“I think he’s pretty sincere this time.” I uncrumpled the paper and handed it to her. “I’ll only go if you do.”

She looked between me and Dan before she relaxed. “Okay. We’ll go. But you don’t leave my side and as soon as there’s a hint of him doing something remotely douchebaggy, we’re out of there.”

“Deal.”

***

For those of you that don’t live in New York, it might sound weird that something as prestigious as an award from The New Yorker would be presented in a library. But the New York Public Library’s huge, the second largest in the country (behind the Library of Congress). People have their weddings and any other event you can think of there, because it’s not just used as a library. And I guess it was fitting, seeing as Brian was being awarded for writing something.

Marie and I missed the ceremony on purpose. She was my escort under the condition that we attend after any and all speeches had been made, to make being there easier on me. I decided to give her that much, as well as allow her to do my makeup.

“Are you sure this isn’t overkill? My eyes look like a raccoon’s.”

“The eyeliner’s making them pop, and the light green is a great contrast to the mulberry color of your dress.”

“I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?”

“No! Lizzie, you look great. You’re going to slay him without even trying.”

We spent about a half-hour walking around and going unnoticed when we were stopped by Jane. “Marie! Good to see you!”

“Nice to see you again, Jane.” They gave each other a brief hug.

“And I assume this is Lizzie, correct?” She shook my hand. “Connor’s told me so many good things about you. You work for LilyPad, right? I read your media articles every week, you’re hilarious.”

“Thank you.” She was talking fast, and it was a little exhilarating to try and keep up with her. 

Jane and Marie spent a little longer catching up before Marie asked what she was doing there. “Don’t tell me Connor sent you to keep an eye on me.”

“Connor? No, I was invited here by Brian Bloom, the award recipient.”

“Wait…you know Brian?”

“Yeah. We’re…friends, you could say.” She looked away, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “Writers have to stick together, right?”

That’s when I was sure I had figured things out. Brian had met Jane not long after breaking up with me, and here I was, talking to her like we were friends. I took a deep breath and grasped Marie’s hand for support.

“Jane, has Brian said anything about me?”

“No, I didn’t even know you guys knew each other. Aren’t…aren’t you here with LilyPad?”

“Brian invited us to come. We live across the hall from him.”

Something clicked for her as she looked at me. “He mentioned that his last relationship was with a neighbor…was that you?”

“Yeah, and I just wanted to say I don’t have anything against you. You really seem like a nice person and I know Connor thinks the world of you, but you need to know that Brian sprung breaking up with me out of nowhere and I’m still working on coming to terms with that. It’s nothing you did, I promise.”

A few seconds later, she was laughing.

“What…what are you doing?” Marie asked, frowning.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, Lizzie, I just…me and Brian? Are you serious?”

“I just thought…” I felt a little relief mix in with the confusion that was buzzing in my head. “You seem to have a lot in common, and we’ve seen him in kind of a happy daze before, so we…”

“We’re not dating. If you haven’t noticed, Brian’s head isn’t exactly here most of the time.” She was still gasping for breath. “I’m his voice of reason, not his girlfriend.”

“Then what…?”

“Has…has he not said anything?”

“About what?”

Jane’s smile fell. “How close are you guys?”

“We kind of avoid him when possible. It’s complicated.” Marie rolled her eyes. “Is there something we need to know?”

“I…it’s…” She turned to me. “Lizzie, this should really come from him, it’s not…”

“Lizzie!” Arlene and Sam Bloom were to our left. “Marie! How are you girls doing?”

“We’re…we’re good.” I turned away to accept a tight hug from Arlene and a nod from Sam. “We haven’t seen Brian yet, but tell him congrats. You must be very proud.”

“We are. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I’m so sorry about what happened between you two.”

“Gave him an earful about it,” Sam said. “That’s no way to treat someone.”

“It’s fine, he’s apologized -”

“You two were so good together, I was hoping…” Arlene’s face lit up. “Anyway, I trust that you two have made up and are friends, at the very least. He says he’s been busy, but I would hate to see you two stop talking to each other.”

“Actually -”

“And I know that things are…strained right now -”

“Strained is an understatement,” Sam said.

“But I’m sure that they’ll straighten themselves out.”

“I…what?”

Jane and Marie had fallen silent, but I hardly noticed as I listened to Arlene.

“I’m sure he’s explained this to you already. It’s so odd, what the French do, but Arielle is a lovely woman -”

Arielle…the woman from the bookstore and the park? 

“- and if I trust anyone with my son’s heart, it would be her. And you, of course, if he were still with you -”

What did this have to do with Arielle?

“- seeing someone from five to seven on weekdays is hardly an idea situation -”

The few times I’d seen him recently were a little before five or a little after seven, leaving his apartment or coming back.

“- and it’s such a shame that Arielle is married with children -”

The two kids. 

“- but I have no doubt that she loves him. Without her, we probably wouldn’t be here tonight!”

And that’s when it all came at me, too fast for me to keep up. Jane wasn’t the one Brian was dating. Arielle, the French woman, married with kids - Brian was in some kind of weird public affair with her. It didn’t make any sense, but it was more plausible than what I had previously thought, somehow.

“Oh, there she is! Arielle!”

There she was. In a sleek white dress with black accents, her hair up, an older man walking beside her. She smiled at me, and I felt my heart sink when I recognized the color of her lipstick.

“Lizzie, wonderful to see you here.”

It felt like everyone was talking at once - how do you know each other, what a small world - but it all sounded like distant, muffled noise. The woman before me was elegant, sophisticated, she held herself with sureness and grace. She was sexy and refined and beautiful - everything I wasn’t. Suddenly I felt like I was a kid again, wearing my dress up clothes everywhere, trying to feel older. 

I felt myself walking toward the front doors, my eyes focused ahead of me. I wasn’t going to turn around, not for anyone. Marie’s hand on my arm made me stop, but I didn’t face her.

“Lizzie, come back -”

“Let go of me.”

“Lizzie, please don’t -”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“We’re going to figure this out, I promise -”

“Stop touching me.” I yanked free of her grasp. “And leave me alone.”

“It’s not your fault, just stay calm -”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

I ran. My feet were protesting, blisters rubbing against the inside of my pumps, and finally I collapsed on the sidewalk. My lungs burned, my eyes stinging with tears. I hated him, hated her. Hated myself for not being right.

He loves her. Not you.

For once, I didn’t even try to distract myself from thinking those things. I grabbed at my arm, pinching hard.

You’re a child compared to her. It’s no wonder he left you.

I lay down on the sidewalk, breathing hard, sobbing.

You’re unlovable. You don’t deserve love. You don’t matter.

Marie told me that she hailed a taxi and we rode home soon after, but I don’t remember any of that. I remember looking in the mirror later that night and seeing a rabid raccoon staring back at me, visceral. 

But it didn’t matter.

I didn’t matter.


	14. Broken Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, November 13th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

The two days I spent in our apartment after learning about Arielle were tense. That’s the only word I can use to describe how it felt. Marie and Dan were quiet, sitting in the living room, waiting for me to emerge for food or for company, ready to give me hugs and to say how sorry they were. Connor was there for a while, but I didn’t want to see him. I spent most of my time in my room, writing, pounding out awful things about Brian and Arielle, awful things about myself, things I don’t wish to repeat.

Marie ironed out the story for me from the other side of my closed door, reluctant but not wanting to argue with me. Brian was engaged in a relationship with Arielle, Jane with Valery, Arielle’s husband. The French had a phrase, “cinq a sept”, referring to the early evening hours when a husband’s whereabouts were allowed to be unknown and ambiguous. Valery and Arielle each took lovers on the side, but only on weekdays and only between the hours of five and seven. Brian was, according to Jane, completely head over heels for Arielle. She was perfect. 

Of course she was.

I didn’t have the energy to pinch or do much of anything but eat and write. My sadness had morphed into the temper that I had suppressed for so long, and I was ready to explode. I wanted to explode, and when I did, I wanted Brian to be in the path of my unbottled rage.

I was on the couch on Monday night with Marie and Dan, falling asleep after being coaxed out of my room with pizza, when we heard a door slam. Marie got up and opened the door, glancing down the hallway. “It’s nine at night…” she muttered, then she said, louder, “Mr. Pierpont?”

Arielle’s husband. What was he doing here? I stood, brushing past Marie.

“Lizzie!” Dan and Marie didn’t leave the apartment, but I kept going, taking the stairs to the lobby and waiting for the elevator doors to open. Valery didn’t glance at me as he walked out the front doors.

“Mr. Pierpont!” I followed him, tugging at his coat sleeve. “What…what are you…”

“She loves him. And it’s not my place…to stand in her way.”

“Is everything okay, sir?”

He looked at me, his voice wavering. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but Mr. Bloom…there’s no one else on this earth that he belongs with. And I…we need to accept that.”

“What happened?” My confusion was quickly making way to anger. “What did he do?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t have happened eventually.”

“Mr. Pierpont, sir, I would appreciate it if you just answered my questions instead of dancing around the subject.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Please.”

He ignored me. “Common sense tells me I should go back up there and kill him, he’s broken the rules and my trust. He’s broken everyone’s trust.” He shook his head. “But I want Arielle to be happy. And she’s happy with…with him. I refuse to hold her back from what she wants.”

“I…I’m sorry.” For what? This mystery thing Brian had done? For losing someone he loved? For being screwed over like I had?

He placed a hand on my shoulder, giving me a hint of a smile. “I am, too.”

***

I didn’t go back to my room. I marched to Brian’s door and knocked. When he opened it, I was sure he’d slam it in my face, but he turned the light on and let me in.

“Packing’s a little hard to do in the dark, isn’t it?” I asked, eyeing the duffle bag on the floor.

“I thought it’d set the mood.”

“Would you maybe spend two seconds in the real world, Brian?!”

He stopped, frowning. “Did you come over to slap me, as well? Tell me what a fucking stupid idea this is?”

“I’m still not entirely sure what the hell’s going on. Mr. Pierpont could hardly even look at me.”

“It’s not like I want to hurt people -”

“It doesn’t matter if you want to hurt people if you end up hurting them anyway!” As I said it, my eyes fell on a small Dior bag lying on his desk. Before he could stop me, I snatched it and pulled out the receipt lying at the bottom. The one word that stuck in my head was “ring”. 

I let the little piece of paper flutter to the floor, turning to look at him. “Are you fucking mental?” I asked quietly.

“Lizzie, you don’t understand -”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I never understand because you don’t bother to tell me things.”

“We’re not exactly on speaking terms anymore, and it’s not like I’m going to go over to your apartment and wave an engagement ring in your face.”

“This isn’t about the fucking ring, Brian. You didn’t have the balls to tell me that you were in some kind of fucked-up love affair with a My Size Barbie?!”

“Would you stop?! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it’s not like I was cheating on you!”

“Really?”

“I met Arielle the Monday after we broke up.”

“And you’re already proposing to her? Brian, you’ve known her for two months!”

“Does it really matter? She’s nothing like any woman I’ve been with. She makes me feel like I’m worth something.”

“And I didn’t?”

“Did I fucking say that you didn’t?”

I walked up to him and hit him across the face, my palm stinging. “You hurt me. You didn’t even explain anything, you just gave some bullshit excuse. I’m done with that. I want to know why you had to break up with me, and don’t say because of your writing -”

“Arielle inspires me to write -”

“So it’s okay?! It’s okay to tear a family apart because of you and your needs?! DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF TALK, BRIAN?!”

“She loves me, too! She wants to be with me, and it’s really sad that you think you can barge in here and bitch about how you’re jealous -”

“I’m upset because you made an exception for her! Have you not been listening to me?! You made an exception for some stupid whore!”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare call her that.”

“That entire family is made up of whores. Her husband’s a whore, her children’ll be whores. She’s a FUCKING whore.”

He pushed me. “DON’T FUCKING CALL HER THAT!”

“Or what?! Are you going to tattle on me? ‘Arielle, my evil ex called you bad names, let me fuck you so I can forget about it!’”

“Would you stop?!”

“Not until you figure out what you did wrong!”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“YOU FUCKING BROKE MY HEART, BRIAN! YOU’RE ACTING LIKE IT DOESN’T MATTER AND YOU THINK IT’S OKAY FOR YOU TO GO AROUND AND RUIN MARRIAGES IF IT BENEFITS YOU! IT’S ALWAYS ABOUT YOU!”

“WOULD I BE PACKING RIGHT NOW IF SHE HADN’T SAID YES?!”

“She’s married, for God’s sake! Would you stop living in this bizarre fantasy world you’ve created and fucking grow up?!”

“What about you? Your buddy Connor and Jane are related, did you know that? He’s not exactly quiet about how you talk about me all the time and how much you hate me. But you don’t, do you?”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t hate me. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He got closer to me. “You still want me. You can’t move on, and you’re upset that I have. Instead of being happy for me, all you’re thinking about is how much it sucks for you. Am I right?”

“Would you stop talking?”

“You claim that you can’t stand me and yet you’re in my apartment screaming at me because you’re still in love with me!”

I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, kissing him. It had been so long since we’d done this, but all I wanted was to brand him. He wasn’t Arielle’s. You didn’t get to cheat, not when you were married.

We broke away with heavy breathing, looking at each other. “I…I was right. I was right.” He was watching me, shocked. “You still love me, don’t you?”

“Does it even matter anymore?”

His shoulders sagged. “Lizzie, don’t pretend that you’re not important -”

“That’s what it feels like. Every time I see you, I feel like I’m not important. Brian, do you understand what it feels like to see someone you love with another person? To feel like you’re not good enough and that you did something wrong?”

“I do, yes.”

We stood in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’m not…I can’t change what happened. I can’t offer you anything other than an apology. I love Arielle and…I can’t help how I feel.”

I sniffed, not bothering to wipe the tears from my face. “I can’t help how I feel, either. Am I supposed to just grow up and move on while you perpetuate your life-ruining fantasy?”

“Lizzie, if you want to be bitter about it, then that’s your choice. I can’t control you.”

“You still don’t fucking understand. But I’m done arguing with you.” I walked to the door, turning to see he’d followed me. “I hope one day you figure out why I’m upset so you don’t hurt anyone else.” Before I could talk myself out of it, I placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him again. It was softer, almost pleading; I looked at him as I pulled away, seeing that he was crying now, too. “I hope you find happiness with her, Brian.”

I walked back across the hall to Marie and Dan, breaking down and incinerating once again.


	15. The Mermaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, November 17th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

The next day was a day I had off, but I didn’t use it for working at home, which was the right thing to do. I went out on my bike and rode around, not really sure where to go. I stopped at several benches, writing in my notebook and trying to figure out how to feel better. But it’s hard, when you don’t know how to even think about something that hurts.

One of the things I wrote was a letter to Brian. I figured I’d leave it under his door and that would be the last thing I ever said to him, since he and Arielle would be gone by the end of the day. I wrote a letter to her, too, and it was much less cohesive; it resembled the shouting match Brian and I had had the previous night. 

What I did with that letter was wrong. It was never meant to be read by anyone but myself, but all I wanted was to transfer my pain to someone else. I easily found out where she lived (a French diplomat isn’t exactly an inconspicuous career choice), dropped the piece of paper in the mailbox and pedaled away. It didn’t register what I had done until I was back in my room, and that’s when I started to panic.

***

“Elizabeth Anne Benston, what the hell is the matter with you?!”

“I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

“Marie, settle down.” Dan was eating a bag of chips, sitting on the floor and making sure any and all crumbs fell on the paper plate in front of him. “It’s not like she threw toilet paper in their trees or vandalized their front door.”

“I don’t care! You never send someone a note like that! It’s rude and it’s badly reflects back on Lizzie. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call the cops.”

“They wouldn’t.” My eyes were wide.

“She didn’t threaten them, Marie.”

“She may as well have!” She ran a hand through her hair. “Goddammit, Liz, you know better! You’re supposed to be the bigger person! What happens if they press charges?”

“Stop yelling at me! I get it! I fucked up! Would you stop acting like I’ve ruined everything?!”

“Well what are we supposed to do if she comes over here and -” She was interrupted by her phone ringing. “Connor, I’m in the middle of something!” 

Dan grabbed it and answered the phone. “Hello, you’ve reached Pizza Hut. How may I help you?”

“Dan, give me the fucking phone.”

“Marie Carter? Nope, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Do you want fries with that?”

“Dan.” She snatched the phone away, going out in the hallway and slamming the door.

“Well shit. I haven’t seen her this upset in a long time.” Dan pursed his lips. “Just to let you know, I probably would have done the same thing.”

“Thanks. It’s not something I’m proud of, believe me.”

“You should send one to Brian, the dickfuck. At least he deserves it.”

“Dan, I’m not going to do this twice.”

“Then maybe I will.” He grinned. “Dear Brian, you suck. Here’s a cactus, go fuck yourself. Love Dan.”

“Please don’t.”

“Why not? He’s gonna be gone after today, right? He can’t do anything to me.” He stood. “I’m gonna go find some paper.”

Marie came in just as he sat down with a pen. “It’s…it’s Mrs. Pierpont.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

“She went to find Connor and asked if he could get in contact with you.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one who left the letter!” She handed me the phone. “So talk to her.”

I took the phone, holding it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Lizzie?”

“Hello, Mrs. Pierpont.”

“Arielle, please.” Her voice was thick, as if she were trying not to cry. “I, um…I didn’t have your number -”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to let you know that I received your note.”

“Fuck my life.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t - I didn’t - I’m so sorry, just please forget I said anything -”

“No, it’s okay. Perfectly fine. I wanted to see you in person, actually.”

No. Absolutely not. That was too much to ask of me. “…What did you have in mind?”

***

I sat on a bench across the street from the New York Public Library on Friday morning. Marie had made me promise to call in case I needed any kind of emotional support. Arielle hadn’t been clear about what she wanted to talk about, exactly, but I had an idea that she was going to lecture me about what I’d said to her. I deserved it, but that didn’t change the fact that I was terrified.

I busied myself with reading, not daring to look up. I felt myself shaking, my leg unable to keep still. After fifteen minutes of waiting, she finally walked up to me, wearing jeans and a sweater. Not high end, but still practical and cute. God forbid she appear anything other than perfect.

“Good morning, Lizzie.”

“Morning.” I didn’t know what to do; part of me wanted to sit up straight and size her up, and part of me refused to stop looking like she was going to kill me. 

“May I sit?”

No. Just stand there like an idiot. “Yeah, of course.” I moved to the side as she took the seat beside me.

“Your letter indicated you wished to speak with me.”

“…It did? Really?”

“I sensed as much.”

Is it a French thing? “Oh.”

She watched me expectantly. I turned my head, studying a dandelion growing out of the sidewalk. Her gaze was still on me when I looked at her again.

“I hate you,” I said.

Silence. She kept watching me.

I said it again. “I hate you.”

She nodded. “Why?”

“I thought it was obvious why…”

“To you, perhaps.”

My fingers gripped the edge of the bench. “You took Brian, that’s why. If you weren’t here, he wouldn’t be such an ass.”

“What else?”

“What else?” I felt a laugh escape me, cold and harsh in my chest. “You’re perfect. You’re Venus incarnate! You’re everything I want to be and everything I can’t have. He…he wants you. Not me. I’m just some silly little girl across the hall who’s good for a drink and conversation once in a while. I’m not gorgeous and I’m not sophisticated. I’m…I’m the best friend to the leading lady.”

Her brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“You’re the one everyone wants to be with. No one wants plain little Lizzie.” I felt my eyes burn. “Compared to you, I’m a joke. It’s no wonder Brian picked you.”

Her eyes looked pained. “Is that it?”

“I wish I was you. I want to…I just…life would be easier if I were you.”

She sighed. “You don’t want to be me.”

“If it means Brian wants me and I get bigger breasts, then yes. I do.”

“You want children, then? You want that responsibility? You want to feel torn between love and your family?”

“You didn’t have to partake in some bullshit side relationship. That was your choice.”

“I ended it.”

“…What?”

“I left Brian, Lizzie. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

I stared at her. “When?”

“Three days ago.”

“Why?”

“You’re too young to understand.”

“Am I?” I stood. “You know, I don’t think I have anything else to say to you. So goodbye, au revoir, or whatever. Have a nice life.” I stalked away. She was up and keeping pace with me seconds later. 

“Lizzie…”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, because that’s going to fix everything!” I stopped, looking at her. “You can’t fix this! No one can fix this!”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

“Stop saying that! You think that’s going to make him love me?! It won’t! BECAUSE I’M NOTHING!”

She was silent as I collapsed on the ground, tears on my cheeks and sobs in my throat. She grasped my elbow and gently pulled me to my feet. “Come with me.”

“Why? Where are we going?

“My home.”

“And what makes you think I want to be there?”

She gave me a sad smile. “You won’t be disappointed.”


	16. Learning I Was Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Friday, November 20th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion
> 
> Yes. I was wrong about Arielle Pierpont. I admit that freely and I’m still embarrassed about how I treated her. But don’t take my word for it…actually no, do take my word. Just keep reading.

The Pierpont house was what I expected: big, fancy, complete with a few servants and tiny chandeliers. I immediately felt uncomfortable and I wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave, but I didn’t want to upset Arielle. I’d already done that with that stupid letter, clearly.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“N-no. I’m good.”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for something if you change your mind.”

I nodded, my arms folded. Where was I supposed to sit? Was I even allowed to sit? Did she have some kind of dungeon where I’d be kept prisoner? 

She took a seat at the dining room table, and I did the same. A woman appeared with a cup of tea, setting it down in front of Arielle before disappearing. She took a few sips, looking serene.

“Brian proposed the idea of marriage to me on Monday evening,” she finally said.

“I know.”

She didn’t ask how I did. “I was going to say yes. I was ready to leave this life behind and begin again with him.” She took a deep breath. “But I couldn’t do that to Valery, or our children. So I wrote Brian a letter and left it at the St. Regis.

“The reason I said you’re too young to understand…I didn’t accept his offer because of my children. I couldn’t uproot their lives because of my own selfishness. You don’t have children, but the way I phrased what I said…I apologize if I made you upset.”

“It’s fine -”

“It’s not. I don’t know how close you and Brian were. He’s never indulged that information with me. How recently were you two together?”

I shrugged. “He broke things off at the beginning of April. He said it was three days before he met you.”

“Oh mon Dieu…”

“He said he wanted to focus on his writing and that a steady relationship wasn’t good for that. So I got angry when I found out about you two and how soon he moved on.”

“Understandably so.”

I frowned. “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Excuse moi?”

“You know what I wrote. You know how I feel about you. You shouldn’t want to talk to me. Why are you…being so kind?”

She took a long sip from her mug. “I didn’t want to be. I received your letter right after I returned home from the hotel, and…” She looked up at me. “I asked him if you were okay. Last week at the library, I was confused and concerned. Brian assured me you were fine, but I know now you aren’t. Your letter proves that. And I apologize that I cannot do more to help.”

I let my head hit the table. “Are you just born perfect or is it some kind of art form?”

I heard her snort. “You think I’m perfect?”

I raised my head. “Didn’t I already make that clear?”

She bit her lip. “I can’t sing.”

“What?”

“I cannot sing. It sounds like a cat getting its paw caught in a garbage disposal. I can’t cook, either. We have a housekeeper and other help here because I’m unable to make food without burning it.” She laughed a little, snorting again. “And sometimes I sound like a pig when I find something funny.”

“…So what?”

“What do you mean, so what?”

“You have quirks. So does everyone. Quirks aren’t flaws unless they have consequences.”

She looked down at her mug. “I almost made the biggest mistake of my life on Tuesday. I was ready to leave my husband, who has always provided and cared for me. I was ready to take my children away from their father. I was ready to go after something that I wanted simply because I could. I don’t know how dearly you hold obligation, but -”

“So that’s it, then? You’re staying out of obligation?”

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I love Valery. There’s no doubt in my mind that I do. I haven’t…it’s been a very long time since we’ve done anything together the way Brian and I have.”

“So you were willing to run away from your problems, then?”

She nodded. “I would love nothing more.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m terrified, Lizzie. You see me as this epitome of beauty and grace but I’m human, just like you. I don’t want to face my husband and tell him I wish to talk about our relationship, perhaps go to a professional. It’s not easy for me to admit when I need help. I’m so used to being so confident.”

I felt sick as I thought of what I had left in her mailbox. “Please tell me you got rid of the letter.”

“It’s been shredded, yes. I’m the only one who read it.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

We sat in silence. I felt too small for my chair, for this house, for my own skin. I’d made things worse, in favor of my own anger, and it was a wonder that Arielle wasn’t completely furious with me.

“You are a talented young woman,” she told me.

“Have you…read my stuff?”

She nodded. “Jane referred me. I think you sell yourself short, you’re a very bright girl.”

“I don’t feel that way. This whole thing’s made me into some kind of jealous monster.”

“You were reacting to your pain.”

“I’m so sorry if I hurt you or anyone else. That…that was my intention, but I was wrong to do it.”

She smiled. “I accept your apology. And please, accept mine.”

“You didn’t do anything…”

“Accept it for the pain I inadvertently caused you.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I assume you wish to leave now, correct?”

“Um…”

She laughed, snorting. “Your posture tells me as much. Will you be able to get back to your apartment from here?”

“Yeah, I’ll hail a cab.” We both stood, and she followed me to the door. I noticed that there was a butterfly hanging on the back of it, one that looked similar to the one Marie and Dan had given me. The one I had started wearing because I wanted to.

“My daughter loves Cendrillon. She parades around in her blue dress and she wants a necklace just like yours. She wants her own papillon.”

“Because of me?”

She nodded. “You’re more important than you think you are, Lizzie.” She walked forward and hugged me, and I returned it, albeit awkwardly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t be afraid to visit or talk to me, okay?”

“You…you want to be friends?”

She gave me another smile. “And why not? Put aside your notions and the world may surprise you with its grace.”


	17. Turning 23 and Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston | 12:07 p.m., Tuesday, November 24th, 2015 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

I didn’t see Brian at all in the two weeks that followed. I could only guess he spent that time locked in his apartment, heartbroken and sullen. I pitied him, just like he probably pitied me.

Jane stopped by several times to check on him, and before leaving the building she visited for a few minutes. The first time she was there, we were a little unsure about letting her in, but she only needed to say, “I’ve got marzipan” for Dan to let her in (and for the marzipan to disappear into the kitchen with him).

“Connor’s been asking about you, Lizzie. He wants to know how things are.”

“They’re…fine. Could be better.”

“You seem a lot more stable now.”

“I don’t feel like I am, but I’m working on it.”

I wanted to ask her if Brian had gotten my note, but I figured it was best to talk about him as little as possible. I didn’t want to put her in a position to choose between us, even though I knew Brian needed her a lot more than I did. 

She started bringing Connor when she came for her visits; the first time she came with him, I didn’t know what to say. It had been a while since I’d seen him or talked to him, and so much had happened. I felt different, somehow, like he wouldn’t recognize me.

“Are you two gonna talk or what?” Jane tossed Dan a bag of chips. “The whole reason I brought him was so you could do that.”

I silently walked forward and wrapped my arms around him. “I missed you,” I mumbled. “Sorry I haven’t called.”

He pulled me close. “I figured you might want space. But I missed you, too.”

And for once, Marie kept silent about potential romantic relationships. I’d never been more thankful.

***

LilyPad has a tradition where we have huge parties once a month to celebrate birthdays and holidays. This year the June party happened to fall on my birthday, June 28th. We’re allowed to bring friends and family if we want, which means the turnout is pretty large. But that’s the point, meeting new people and talking about how amazing LilyPad is. (It’s the best thing ever and no I’m not being paid to write that.)

“Carol and Dad can’t make it, they’re on vacation until Wednesday,” I told Marie a few days before. “We’re going to go to dinner once they get back.”

“Sounds good. Jane said she and Connor’ll be able to come. Dan’s obviously coming if I am. Anyone else you want to invite?”

“I…I kind of want to invite Brian.”

She let out a sigh. “Lizzie, no…”

“Marie, we haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. I’m a little worried about him.”

“He’s probably fine, he’s just moping around because he realized women aren’t dickwarmers for his enjoyment. You don’t want to invite him, Liz, trust me.”

I waited until she and Dan were asleep to sneak down the hallway and slip an invitation under his door.

“I don’t know if you’re awake, Brian, but there’s a party on the 28th and I’d like you to come. I understand if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d let you know.” I turned to walk back to my room when I stopped and added, “I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing alright.”

***

Because of Marie’s reaction to the prospect of Brian being invited, I was even more reluctant to tell her that I’d dropped an invitation in the Pierponts’ mailbox. I’d been hoping they’d say no and leave me a voicemail, but Arielle was craftier than that. She left a message with Connor, and the next time Marie and I were at the bookstore, he relayed it to me.

“Madame Pierpont and her family are unable to attend the LilyPad event, but she wants you to arrive at her house at 2 p.m. on Sunday for pre-birthday party happenings. Or something to that effect.”

Marie gave me a forced smile. “And what makes you think that was a good idea, Elizabeth Anne? I’m fully convinced you’re a masochist.”

“It wasn’t her fault, Marie. She didn’t do anything.”

“Connor, can you believe her?” 

“I don’t really see what the problem is. Madame Pierpont and Lizzie are on good terms.”

“Am I the only one who thinks this is fucked up?!”

“Marie, inside voice. Connor, we’ll see you on Sunday.” I grabbed her arm. “You can come with, if you’re so concerned.”

“To her house? Lizzie, this is a suicide mission.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

***

It was just Marie and me when we arrived at the Pierponts’ house. Connor didn’t know them very well, Jane had severed ties with Valery and was avoiding contact of any kind, and Dan…we weren’t going to take any chances on him being on his best behavior. Granted, it was a gamble on Marie, as well, but she was better at controlling herself.

“I figured we could watch movies and I could help you with your makeup and hair,” Arielle said. “If that’s alright with you.”

“I could have done that at home,” Marie grumbled. 

“But are you a former model?” Arielle grinned. Marie folded her arms, and I elbowed her.

It turns out Arielle was really good with cosmetics, but I guess you have to be when you’re married to a diplomat and go out to social functions all the time. Marie eventually gave in and allowed her hair to be played with and she and Arielle wouldn’t stop talking about the awful movies we were watching. (”Who says that?” “It’s so unrealistic, right?” “Of course!”) As much fun as we were having, Marie insisted we leave by six-thirty so we could go home and change.

“We actually have a birthday gift for you, Lizzie,” Valery said as he and Arielle stood at the door.

“You…you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“We saw it and immediately thought of you. Or, our daughter did.”

I looked at Marie, who just shrugged and smiled. “What is it?”

The two children came out carrying a powder blue dress with embroidered shapes, including -

“She saw the butterflies,” Arielle said. “What do you think?”

“Thank you very much.” I took the dress, smiling widely. “It’s beautiful.”

“Have fun tonight. And happy birthday.”

***

We’re lucky enough that LilyPad is stationed on the fifth floor of a building that has a large multi-purpose ballroom on the main floor, so we get to use it for free, which is nice considering how much food and the DJ costs. I got plenty of compliments on my dress, and for the most part things were going pretty well. Nothing of incident happened until eight, when Brian showed up.

“Lizzie, what did you do?” Marie glared at me.

“Want me to throw a piece of pizza at him?” Dan had one in his hand. “I played recreational baseball for a few years in elementary school.”

“I’ll go talk to him first, okay?” Jane handed Dan’s pizza to Connor before she went over and greeted Brian. He kept looking over at us, running his fingers through his hair and making it stick up.

“He’d better be nervous,” Marie said. “One wrong move and he’s toast.”

“Do I have permission to beat him up, then?” Dan asked. 

“Just this once, okay?”

“No one is beating anyone up. We’re going to be responsible adults.” Connor held Dan’s pizza out of his reach.

“Lizzie, seriously, why did you invite him?”

“I felt bad, okay?”

“For him fucking you over?” Dan snatched his pizza back, stuffing it in his mouth.

“I know how hard it is. And it sucks when you feel like no one else is there for you.”

“The only difference is that he really doesn’t have anyone there,” Marie pointed out. “Jane’s doing it because she’s pitying him, I bet.”

“They’re actually really close,” Connor said. “She’s going to be his editor, once he starts submitting stuff to be published.”

“Well good for them. They can get married for all I care.”

“Marie!”

Jane came back, looking right at me. “He wants to talk to you.”

“He’s not going to, not without us,” Marie said.

“Marie. It’s okay. I have my phone, I’ll call you if I need you, I can use my heels as a weapon -”

“You can do that?” Dan looked impressed. “Dude, I want a pair!”

“Hopefully that won’t need to happen though!”

“How do we know it won’t, though?” Marie shifted her gaze to Brian, narrowing her eyes.

“I want closure. The only way I’ll get it is if I talk to him.” I took a deep breath. “I’m ready this time.”

Connor gave me a small smile. “You’ve grown a lot, I hope you know that.”

“You have.” Jane put a hand on my shoulder. “Go talk to him. We’ll wait here.”

I turned around and walked over to Brian. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“I mean, Jane told me she was coming, so…” He scratched the back of his head. “She’s really the only person I talk to.”

“She said you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah. I, um…I wanted to apologize. For everything I’ve done, for the other night, for hurting you. I’ve had my head shoved up my ass and I haven’t thought about anyone else.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been so clingy or possessive, and that wasn’t fair to you. Or Arielle.”

He bristled at the mention of her name. “It’s my fault that things happened the way they did, and I’ve been kicking myself for being so naive and stupid. I’ve been thinking about how maybe things would have worked out between us if I hadn’t…but it’s too late to find out, I know.”

“Exactly.” And I realized he was right. What might have happened between us - long-term dating, marriage, whatever - all of that was gone now. In its wake were two broken people, trying to piece themselves back together and wondering if things would ever be okay again.

“I understand if you don’t want to forgive me, or you can’t. It’s going to take me a while to move past this. But I hope you’re doing alright.”

“I am, yes. You got my letter, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“That about sums me up.”

“So am I allowed to…join you, then? You and your entourage?”

I laughed. “Isn’t Jane technically your entourage?”

“She’s a double agent. Sneaky bastard.”

“I think that’ll be okay. Keep clear of Dan if he’s got pizza, though.”

He gave me a hug, and I felt myself tear up as I returned it. I led him over to my friends, and for the first time since April, I honestly felt unafraid of Brian Bloom. Because he was human, just like I was. And we both made mistakes and would make plenty more. My perception of him as the source of my happiness was just as incorrect as his perception of Arielle as some sort of manic pixie dream girl. It’s easy to project onto people like that, but it’s not as simple to undo the damage.

It would take me a while to come to terms with everything, to be able to talk normally to Brian again. It was painful, and that was okay. That was just part of the process of regrowth. Connor was right when he said that I would relapse, but that didn’t mean I had to stay where I was. Everyone vacillates between broken and whole, incinerating and rising out of the ashes. It’s part of life. 

It’s part of who I am. I’m still growing, and someday, I know I’ll look back and see just how far I’ve come.

***

Thank you for reading.

~Lizzie Benston


	18. An Unnecessary Update (The Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted by Elizabeth Benston-Walsh | 12:07 p.m., Friday, April 15th, 2022 | for LilyPad Press: Your Online Bi-Weekly Magazine for Current Social Trends, Lifestyle Tips, and Media Discussion

I know you’re all wondering what happened to everyone. I promised myself I’d update this, and I’m sorry for those of you who had to wait for seven years. But here you are. 

Arielle and Valery are still married. I still see them on a regular basis. They received counseling and they no longer partake in the 5 to 7 relationship, instead opting to set aside that time to spend with their children. They’re very happy, I can assure you.

Many of you were a little upset when Brian published his book, The Mermaid, one year after I finished with these posts, claiming that he copied me or I copied him. His experience is different from mine, and our writing shouldn’t be compared the way they are. I thought his book was well-written and he didn’t copy me; he wrote from the heart, something that he’s always done and always will.

He’s married now with a son, and he and his wife are expecting another child. I’m sure many of you have read his works to know he’s successful. I don’t talk to him as much as I should, but life gets in the way sometimes.

Jane’s doing well. She married a cellist and they also have a son. She’s still Brian’s editor and voice of reason. 

Marie and Dan have been discussing marriage, and they’re finally going to have their wedding later this month. They haven’t discussed children, but I think that’ll come in time. Marie is a practicing psychologist and Dan co-owns Olly Olly Oxen Read, and they still spend their free time arguing and joking around.

I’m obligated to say that Marie was right. Connor and I were married last year, and I’m excited to tell you guys that I’m pregnant and the baby’s due in November. I’m still writing and he still works at the bookstore, and we’re very happy. We keep each other in check and we still debate over books. We’re a couple of ace nerds, as Dan puts it.

Which brings me to something I’m ready to talk about: I’m autochorissexual, a form of asexuality. It took me a while to come to terms with that, and even longer to be comfortable to tell my family and friends. And now I’m ready to be out and proud of who I am.

Before I end this, I’ve gotten a few questions concerning Brian and Arielle and myself. Does Brian still love her? Do I still love him?

I care about Brian, he’s a good friend, and that’s not going to change. I can’t say the same for Brian. Arielle was his first real love, and he’s found himself stuck in remembering her, even after all these years. It’s not my place to say any more than that. 

I still have my butterfly necklace, and with that comes painful memories. Sometimes it’s hard to anchor myself. But I talk to Connor or Marie, and I move on. 

If anything, I have learned to stand on my own, to live for myself and love myself. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, which made it all the more necessary.

~Lizzie Benston-Walsh

*FIN*

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't like 5 to 7 as a film. I thought it was rushed and corny and a male fantasy disguising itself as a discussion on open marriage. That being said, I'm willing to work with it so I can battle my own personal demons. Lizzie is me, for all intents and purposes; or, she's a version of me, a personification of my thoughts and feelings. 
> 
> You're probably wondering why I'm even bothering writing a fanfiction for a movie I despise. Truthfully, I am, as well. But I want to get to the point where I can passively hate it and move on with my life, rather than letting it fester and make me upset to the point where I have to remove myself and take a few deep breaths. 
> 
> I honestly don't expect kudos or anything of the sort. All I'd like is a bit of respect. Like I said, this story is not polished nor is it something that I've tailored for a general audience. So please be patient with me, if you choose to read it.


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